


Merry Christmas, Teresa

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Friendship, a little bit of romance, re-post from 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: „What’s it with you and Christmas?“ He asks her then, looking up at her curiously. „I mean there are plenty of people who can’t stand all this stuff but you…“„I’m what?“ She’s raising her eyebrows, already completely annoyed with this conversation.„You’re so full of anger. The whole hallway is scared of you.“





	Merry Christmas, Teresa

**Author's Note:**

> And a BIG special thank you goes to the wonderful clairebare for beta reading!

**Merry Christmas, Teresa**

**.**

**.**

Teresa Lisbon hates Christmas. _(Well, of course not the original reason people started to celebrate this day 2000 years ago)._  (She’s a Catholic after all).

She just hates everything else.

She hates those stupid decorations, those annoying songs and those sweaters and coffee mugs with reindeers on it.  _(And all those sickly sweet looking cookies)._

She hates Christmas trees and fairylights and she hates buying presents for her ignorant little brothers and sending them through the whole country.  _(Knowing she won’t even get a Christmas card in return)._

She hates those carol singers waiting on her doorstep and she really can’t stand those mistletoes.  _(Who the hell started that rite by the way)?_

Usually she tries her best to stay away from the office over the holidays. Takes some time off.  _(Or just calls in sick)_. Because she just can’t stand those joyful people around her.  _(And she knows people can’t stand her bad mood either)._

But this year there’s too much going on at the office and there’s no way she could take a day off and she doesn’t even dare to call in sick, because she’s almost sure Hightower would just send her an ambulance to escort her back to the headquarters if necessary.  _(And that just makes her even more grumpy)._

.

When she comes into the bullpen on Christmas Eve and gets a look at those decorations VanPelt hung up the other day, she wants to scream.  _(She doesn’t of course)._ (She’s Teresa Lisbon after all).

Instead she slams the door to her office just a little too loud, closing the blinds almost immediately and burys herself behind a stack of paperwork on her desk.

.

It’s Jane who barges into her office only ten minutes later. (Carrying a coffee mug and a plate).  _(Of course with Santa Claus and reindeers on it)._

„What do you think you’re doing?“ She snaps at him.

„I thought I would come by and cheer you up with freshly brewed coffee and some of those delicious cookies from Lucy.“ He tells her with an innocent smile on his face.

„Who’s Lucy? And why on earth do you think that would cheer me up in the first place?“

„Lucy is the head of accounting. And those cookies are simply the best. You’re going to love them.“

„No, I don’t want them“, she shakes her head in disgust. „Just give them to Rigsby, or something.“

„Oh come on grumpy. Try at least one of them,“ he tries to assure her. (Closing the door behind him and placing the mug and the plate carefully on her desk).

„Jane, I have work to do,“ she says impatiently.  _(Not in the mood for him watching over her)._ But like always he doesn’t even listen. Instead he settles himself on her couch with a sigh.

„What’s it with you and Christmas?“ He asks her then, looking up at her curiously. „I mean there are plenty of people who can’t stand all this stuff but you…“

„I’m what?“ She’s raising her eyebrows, already completely annoyed with this conversation.

„You’re so full of anger. The whole hallway is scared of you.“

„What do you want me to do? Sing Christmas songs? Wear a sweater with Rudolf the red nose reindeer on it?“ When she sees the grin spreading all over his face she just wants to slap him. _(And herself for bringing it up in the first place)._

„Don’t even think about it,“ she mutters angrily, putting her pen down and staring out of her window instead. „It’s too sunny anyway,“ she adds grumpily. „And too warm.“

„Well, that’s the weather you’re going to get living in California, Lisbon.“

She doesn’t even bother answering this time and just keeps staring into the sunny morning. Trying to ignore those Christmas songs and laughter coming from the bullpen.  _(Whose idea had it been to losen the office rules around this tim of the year anyway)?_

„Tell me.“

„Tell you what, Jane?“

„Why you hate it so much. Christmas I mean. There must be a reason and I’m curious“

„No.“

„Lisbon.“

„Just leave me alone, Jane.“ She hates her voice for breaking. _(And herself for those tears building in her eyes)._ And he must have seen them too, because he falls silent.

(She hates Christmas) _. (She really does)._

She hears him mumbling something that sounds a lot like  _I’m sorry,_  before finally taking that damn mug and those cookies away from her desk.  _(Leaving her alone again)._

.

No one comes looking for her for the rest of the day _-(not even Jane)-_  and she’s thankful for that.

She keeps herself busy with her paperwork, glad no one gets murdered.  _(Counting the seconds until she’s able to put the last folder down)._  (Ready to leave).

She casts a side glance in the direction of the bullpen, thinking she should wish her team at least nice holidays. But the sight of Rigsby in a reindeer sweater is enough to make her run.  _(Literally speaking)._

She hates Christmas. (She really does).

.

A few hours later she finds herself sitting in a jersey shirt on her couch in her living room. Trying hard to ignore those cheerful Christmas songs coming from her neighbours.

She sighs, taking another sip from her bourbon.  _(Wishing she’d started drinking hours ago)._  (Thinking about taking a sleeping pill and crying herself to sleep). When a weird noise outside her window makes her look up again.

And when she does, she can’t help but wonder if she’s really that drunk already.

She stands up unsteady, placing her glass on a bookshelf on her way to the door. And she can’t help but stare at the sight before her, when she finally steps outside of her apartment. She knows it can’t be real. (It’s impossible).  _(But it looks like it’s snowing)._

(No, it is snowing).

She looks up into the sky  _-(watching hundreds)-_  millions of snowflakes falling down to earth. _(Putting a white blanket over her house entrance)._

„Is that a smile I see?!“

Startled she spins around and finds Jane leaning casually on the wall.  _(A proud smile all over his handsome face)._

„I knew that would work,“ he tells her grining.

„You? But how did you…? I mean… “ she stammers.  _(Unable to compose a coherent sentence)._ (Maybe she was indeed a little tipsy).

He just laughs, before making a step toward her and pointing into the dark. „A snow machine, Lisbon.

(And suddenly it makes sense even in her state).

„Please tell me you didn’t burgle a film set somewhere in Hollywood,“ she asks him alarmed. But he just waves her off.

„Meh, Lisbon. No need to worry. Someone owed me a favour, that’s all.“

It’s enough to calm her and she reachs out her hands to catch a few snowflakes on their way down. „It feels so real,“ she whispers amazed. Unable to keep that smile from spreading over her face. „It’s beautiful, Jane.“

And it is. She can’t remember how long it had been since she’d been able to touch snowflakes. _(Maybe the last time she went to visit one of her brothers in New York almost five years ago)._

She can’t stop herself from standing up on her tiptoes _-(realizing just then that she’s barefooted)-_  kissing Jane gently on his cheek.

„Thank you,“ she tells him, resting her hand just a second too long on his chest.  _(Wondering if he always smelled that good)._  (Wondering if his eyes always have been blue like the ocean).

„Have you been drinking, Lisbon?“ It’s his voice that brings her back to her senses. But only for a second.  _(Before she realizes that his lips are just milimeters away from her own)._ And instead of an actual answer she just kisses him.  _(Blame it on the bourbon if you want)._

For a second she’s sure he’s going to push her away, but to her own surprise he doesn’t. Instead his hands find a way to her face, cupping it softly.  _(Her lips colliding with his)._

He tastes like earl grey and she’s sure he can still taste the bourbon on her own lips.  _(It’s soft and tender)._  And rough and greedy at the same time. (And she doesn’t want it to stop ever again).

„You’re not going to tell me though, are you?“ he asks her playfully, when they finally part. „Why you hate Christmas so much, I mean.“

She can’t help but smile.  _(He just can’t give up, can he?)_

„No, Jane. I won’t.“

„Well at least I tried,“ he all but shrugs before taking her hand into his own, spinning her around and pulling her close.  _(Her back resting against his chest)._  Both of them looking up into the sky and watching hundreds of snowflakes falling down to earth.

And when he whispers  _Merry Christmas, Teresa_ , she can’t stop thinking that maybe she doesn’t hate Christmas so much after all.

**.**

**.**


End file.
